


let me groove you good

by juliusschmidt



Series: harry, you little shit [12]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Jealousy, M/M, Marking, Scent Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:12:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3062207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliusschmidt/pseuds/juliusschmidt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People begin to suspect that something is off about Harry and Louis’ relationship. Attempts at covering it up backfire, just a bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me groove you good

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my amazing beta [Melanie](http://cheekysstyles.tumblr.com)! 
> 
> The title is from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BKPoHgKcqag) cause, well, you know... ;). 
> 
> Happy New Year!

Louis and Harry are eating ice cream at their favorite shop when the first of the very bad phone calls comes in.

They’ve each ordered their own cup and Harry tells Louis that he wants to try some of his. It has butterscotch in it, which Harry loves. Harry had _almost_ ordered it himself. He thinks Louis might’ve picked it out with Harry in mind, but now Louis’ insisting that the only way Harry is allowed to eat any is if he lets Louis to feed it to him.

Louis’ tone is light and his eyes are sparkling with barely suppressed mischief. His demand should be playful; Harry’s sure it’s meant to be. But, well, feeding is kind of intimate and they’re in _public_ and not even courting.

He’s glad when the buzzing in his pocket allows him step away from Louis’ taunting.  

Harry answers, and he doesn’t realize it’s bad, not at first. The person on the line is from management, the secretary of someone higher up. She’s very polite to Harry, asking him how his day has been and what he’s up to at the moment. Her sweet demeanor makes him think she might be an omega and he’s curious how she could have ended up in a professional position as such, but it would be rude to ask.   

Her tone changes quite suddenly though, cutting off his description of the ice cream he’s holding, as she says, “Is Mr. Tomlinson with you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry supplies, turning to look at Louis. He’d apparently gotten bored of trying to catch Harry’s attention and is now playing peek-a-boo behind his ice cream cup with a toddler two tables over.

“He’s not answering his phone. Can I speak with him?” Louis’d forgotten his phone at their flat again of course, but they haven’t been out that long. Harry’s curious as to what could be so urgent.

He hands the phone to Louis saying, “Someone from management.”

Louis makes a face. It isn’t a secret that he doesn’t trust the team they’ve been set up with, but Louis _generally_ isn’t pleased to be told what to do, so Harry hasn’t thought much of it. If someone higher up wants to speak with him at this hour then maybe more is going on than he’s been privy to.

“Hello?” Louis pauses and sticks his tongue out at the toddler as he listens. “Yeah, we can be there. What’s it about?”

Louis rolls his eyes at Harry as the woman answers and Harry is more curious than before.

When Louis hangs up and hands the phone back to Harry, he’s got a sour smile on his face. “Looks like we won’t be sleeping in tomorrow after all. Fucking suits.”

Harry waves at the toddler who is still watching Louis and he ducks into his mother’s elbow, suddenly shy. To Louis, Harry says, “They want to see both of us?”

Louis nods and then wonders, “Why couldn’t she have just told you?”  His eyes wander back to the mother now setting her toddler back in his buggy.

Harry thinks about this. If the woman who’d called had been an omega, she certainly wouldn’t have questioned Harry’s competency in handling business matters; that would be absurd. Slowly, he suggests, “Maybe… like, she didn’t want to put me in the position of, like, ordering you about?”

Louis laughs and knocks an elbow into Harry’s side, like he’s just made a hilarious joke. When Harry doesn’t respond, his lips flip upside down. “You’re serious?”

Harry shrugs and stands, jostling his chair, his spine tingling as its legs grate against the floor. “Maybe,” he replies.

Louis’ eyes narrow, but he doesn’t press the issue. Instead, he shares that the secretary had insisted that she had no idea _why_ she’d been asked to set up the meeting, only that they hadn’t wanted to wait another day.

~

Their ride to management’s offices is tense, and Harry can’t help but hold Louis’ hand tightly in his lap. They don’t talk and that’s okay.

The meeting is by far the worst Harry’s ever attended, though not because it’s poorly run and not because anyone is particularly cruel. It’s just, the message the suits deliver is not one he wants to hear.

Apparently, their PR team has been contacted by a popular tabloid- a trashy sensationalist rag- who wants to publish the front page story “1D Hiding an Omega?” with the byline “Are these Alphas really in love _or_ is one of them not who he seems to be?”

Harry and Louis are quickly assured that this particular media outlet has been bought off and will not be running the article. However, the problem remains: people are beginning to suspect _something_ because of how close Louis and Harry have become.

It doesn’t help that _this_ article had suggested, based on the assumptions and evidence presented by ‘a large online fan community,’ that _Louis_ is the secret omega.

The ride back from the office is significantly louder than the ride there, though the conversation is almost entirely one-sided.

Louis is livid. He begins shouting as soon as the car door closes. “It’s because I’m small. Which is ridiculous. People think it’s biology that alphas are larger than omegas, but it’s just a stupid stereotype. I mean, look at you- as big as I am and still growing.”

At this point Harry feels it reasonable to add, “I think it’s probably true, though, that most omegas are smaller than their alphas.”

Louis glares at him. “Oh, do you want me to go find some little omega girl with big eyes and tiny wrists?”

Harry does not want that, but he shrugs and says, “If you like.”

Louis bangs his head against the car window. “So what if I dohave a higher-pitched voice.”

Harry laughs. Louis is the alpha-est alpha he’s ever met- way bossier and way sexierthan anyone else, in Harry’s opinion. But also, “Why does it bother you so much?”

Louis pinches his thigh. “Because it’s not true, that’s why.”

Harry supposes that makes sense. Harry leans into Louis. “Okay. What did you think of their plan?”

Louis tenses. “I don’t want to stop being, like, you know, like we are, if that’s what you mean.”

It’s not reallywhat Harry’d been asking. He’d suspected that much. Louis hadn’t given him any indication that he’d wanted to move away or back off or even branch out, not since their fight after first settling into their flat.

Harry’s glad of it, too. He likes having Louis around. He likes cuddling up on the couch after a long day out and he likes having someone to eat with and someone to talk with. They sleep together sometimes (most of the time) and that’s good, too, having someone hot and firm and close to curl up to in the middle of the night.

Being near Louis almost always makes him feel better _._

So he’s glad to hear that Louis wants to keep things between them the same, but, “I meant about the other people, or whatever?”

Louis leans his head on Harry’s shoulder and bites him gently through the fabric of his shirt. “I don’t like that at _all_. It’s not safe for you to be out on dates with other people.”

“What?” Harry asks, confused. “I’m sure they meant other omegas. That would be perfectly safe.”

Louis bites harder and Harry winces, pulling away.

Louis sits up. “Just don’t like the thought of you out there by yourself- like, without me or one of the other boys to help.”

And _that_ bothersHarry. He doesn’t think of himself as tied to the other boys. He’d assumed that he could go out by himself anytime he wanted, but, when he considers it, he hasn’t done so, not in months. He wants to explain this to Louis, though he’s not sure how.

Louis cuts into his thoughts, “I hope they can keep it just me. I think I’d be able to do a fake courting well. Especially if it helps me look lesslike an omega.”

“You could date Nick,” Harry suggests. He’s met Nick exactly two times, the same number of times as Louis. Harry and Nick hit it off straight away. Louis and Nick had not.

“Fuck off.” Louis pulls away. “That’d do shitfor my image. Everyone knowshe fucks around _way_ too much for an omega.”

Harry winces. He knows how Louis feels about Nick so probably he shouldn’t have brought it up. But _still_. In Harry’s opinion, Nick is a goodperson and as far as he can tell Nick isn’t nearlyas promiscuous as he’s made out to be. Harry’s pretty certain his bad reputation comes from a couple of disgruntled exes, alphas who’d been offended he hadn’t wanted to bond.

Frankly, as Harry scoots further away from Louis’ increasingly irritated person, he thinks he canrelate.

Louis spends most of that night awake scrolling through fan forums trying understand why so many people assume that _he’s_ Harry’s omega. He runs into Harry’s room several times to shake him awake in order to share new pieces of information he’s discovered: “Did you know people think I have beautiful eyelashes?” and “Is a round arse an inherently omega quality? I can’t find any medical information on it, but all the omega dating sites suggest that one should capitalize on it, like, assuming that every omega has one, I think,” and finally, “There’s this wildfan report from when we saw people at Tesco’s last weekend and the girl’s claiming that, to her very discerning nose, we don’t smell like friends or boyfriends, but like _bondmates_!”

None of this is a surprise to Harry. He’s memorized the exact spot Louis’ lashes touch his cheekbones when his eyes flutter closed and he’s lamented the size of his own tiny arse. Harry’s made a point to keep up on fan stories since the end of the X Factor, when he began to worry that people might find him out.

Still, that night Louis’ distress is impossible to ignore. When he comes racing into Harry’s room for what must be the sixth or seventh time, close to dawn, instead of indulging him, Harry grabs him around the wrist, pulls him into bed, and hushes him with several deep kisses.

~

The second and, in Harry’s opinion, decidedly worse call comes two weeks later. Louis has his phone on him this time or rather it’s on the coffee table in front of where they’re curled up on the couch watching a fishing program.

This time, management wants Louis to come to their offices without _Harry_ to meet his new omega ‘girlfriend.’

Harry does not spend the three hours that Louis is gone pacing in their living room, nor does he check his phone more than five or twelve times. However, he _does_ do a load of Louis’ laundry, cook dinner, and wipe down the bathroom. And, after Louis texts that he’s on his way home, Harry _does_ jerk off between Louis’ freshly washed sheets, though he’s careful and comes cleanly into a tissue. The smell of it lingers in the air to both his satisfaction and embarrassment.

He doesn’t want to think about why the idea of Louis and another omega, _a girl,_ makes him so itchy and possessive. But the idea of Louis and _someone else_ is wedged deep under his skin and he can’t help but run to the door as soon as Louis returns and watch him toe off his shoes and hang up his jacket.  

The meeting with the omega doesn’t go poorly, or at least, Louis _says_ it doesn’t go poorly. He relays the details to Harry over a late dinner. Harry’s tried to make pork tacos, but he doesn’t think he’s done a very adequate job. The meat is a touch bland.

Still, between talking about El, Louis throws in several comments about how good everything tastes and how lucky he feels to have Harry around to cook and each time Harry’s cheeks heat and his budding resentment softens.  The sweet, cotton candy scent of the other omega on Louis’ skin doesn’t go away though and Harry’s stomach never quite settles enough to eat much of his own meal.

Louis explains that Eleanor is a sweet girl with rich, well-connected parents who doesn’t plan to bond until she finishes University as she has dreams of homeschooling her own children and wants to be properly credentialed.  Louis’ bitter about being saddled with a girlfriend, but, he assures Harry, he can’t blame the omega herself.

Harry can, he finds. He’s heard of omega catfights before; the media portrays them as ugly and hilarious, and he doesn’t want to be part of one, but the idea of doing _something_ to hurt this girl is undeniably appealing. It’s stupid, too, because he doesn’t even want to claim Louis for himself, not really, not permanently.

Louis’ watching Harry closely throughout the conversation, concern building in his eyes and wafting over to Harry. Harry’s only made it halfway through his first taco when  Louis reaches across the table and squeezes his wrist. In a gentle voice, he insists that Harry should blow off some steam, maybe go for a jog; he promises to clean up the food and the dishes.

Exercise is exactly what Harry needs, of course. Louis is getting to know him embarrassingly well. The burn in his calves and the feel of sweat trickling down his spine, the pounding of his heart, it’s exhilarating and before long he’s feeling invincible.

Like, who fuckingcares about some dumb omega?! Harry’s a fucking _popstar_ in a band. They’ve been on _tour_. They’re recording an album.

Harry doesn’t hear or see Louis when he wanders into the workout room- his headphones are in and his eyes are trained on the episode of Friends playing on the flatscreen- but he smells him. It’s a good smell, a pleasedsmell, and Harry’s racing pulse skips a beat.

Harry can tell that Louis’ feeling veryaffectionate toward him and that affection is turning dark, heated, with desire.

Harry slows his pace to an easy walk and pulls out his earbuds. Without turning around he says, “Come to perv on me while I exercise?”

Louis moves to stand beside the treadmill. He folds his arms across his chest and says, “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re a mess.”

Harry turns to look at Louis, sidestepping. He trips a little on the belt, but rights himself quickly and slows the pace a little more. “Yeah, do I smell?”

Louis breathes in deeply, loud enough for Harry to hear over the whir of the machine and the thumping of his slowing heartbeat. Then, Louis scrunches up his face in mock disgust. Harry knows it’s mockdisgust because he can feel Louis’ lust now rolling off him, hitting Harry in a heady rush.

Harry stops the treadmill entirely and leans over the rail to smirk at Louis. “I probably need a shower, then, right?”

Louis steps back, pupils now huge, and nods.

Harry laughs and ducks under the rail, hopping onto the floor, arms falling wide as he steadies himself. His awkwardness doesn’t matter because Louis is fuckinggone for him.

Harry feels fantastic.  

Sure, they get aroused around each other relatively often, what with working together and living together and sometimes even sleeping together, but, with the exception of Harry’s last two heats, they haven’t really acknowledgedit, not recently.

Really, outside those heats, Harry can’t remember a time when Louis’d been _this_ worked up. And, the thing is, after what feels like ages and ages of celibacy, Harry’s beginning to feel pretty worked up himself. His dick is thickening in his shorts and he finds he wants Louis. Now.

Louis’ skin is flushed invitingly and Harry’s drawn in by the thought that if they do something, anything, afterwards Louis will smell only of him again.

Slowly, testing, he says, “I know how good you are at cleaning me up.”

They’re in each other’s space, now, and Louis’ hand clutches at Harry’s side. Roughly, he replies, “You’re liable to leave yourself a mess if someone doesn’t watch out for you.”

Out of context, it’s a ridiculous suggestion. Harry’s _much_ neater than Louis and he does almost all the straightening and washing up around their flat, but after sex… well.

Louis’ nails bite through the fabric of Harry’s loose cotton tee and into the skin of his lower back.  

“Yeah, I could probably use your help, scrubbing clean, especially my-“

Louis kisses him hard and the desperation behind it has Harry questioning whether they’ll make it out the workout room, let alone across the house and into the shower. But then Louis is pulling away, wrapping a hand around Harry’s wrist and dragging him toward the door, saying, “I’m not kidding. You taste like salt _,_ you filthy boy _._ You’re too sweaty for this. We need to clean you up.”

Harry allows himself to be led down the hall and into the bathroom. As Louis fiddles with the pressure and temperature dials, Harry watches him from behind, measuring the span of his shoulders, the narrow dip of his waist, the curve of his arse, and feels his breath pick up again almost as though he’s resumed running.

Louis checks the water once, winces and twists a knob before trying again and smiling. He turns back to look at Harry and blows out a breath.

Louis shakes his head, brows furrowing. “Why haven’t you-“ he stops mid-sentence and yanks Harry’s shirt until it’s over his head and on the ground.  Then, the running shorts and pants come off all very quickly, and Harry’s mind is whirling from the tugging and pulling when Louis urges him up and over the side of the tub.

As he steps in, he looks over his shoulder. His voice comes out a soft whine, “Aren’t you coming, too?”

Louis doesn’t reply; he’s too busy stripping out of his own clothes and following Harry into the steam.

Once inside, Louis slides the curtain closed with a hiss and whirls to face Harry. Water streams down him, off his shoulders and over his chest. His jaw is set, mirroring the intensity of his rigid stance. Harry thinks Louis looks powerful and he wants to feelthat power.

Louis must see the need in his eyes or maybe he smells it between them, because suddenly he’s shoving Harry up against the back wall of the shower and laying his mouth, teeth bared, against Harry’s neck. A bottle of shampoo clatters to the ground, smacking Harry in the leg. Soap pours from it, sliding against his foot, but he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care because Louis is sliding a thigh, hard and hairy, between Harry’s own. The pressure on his cock matches the sting of Louis’ mouth, still open and insistent on Harry’s neck. Harry closes his eyes and lets Louis grind into him.

He can feel Louis, equally hard, against his own thigh and he’s aware of the knot that’s beginning to form at his base. It’s a stark reminder that they’re not supposed to be doing this, not when there’s no heat, no need.

But, he thinks, slipping his hands over Louis back and arse, no heat means no danger of bonding and, really, they’ve been heading toward this for so long. Since they first met, maybe.

So he lets Louis lead, pressing heated kiss after heated kiss into Harry skin- his neck, his shoulder, the top of his chest- and allowing Louis’ hands to roam possessively over his sides and hips.

Louis’ had a brilliant idea, to do this in the shower, though it’s not something Harry’d fantasized about before. Sure, he’d seen the like in porn and in romantic films, but he’d always assumed directors included it because the water looks lovely sluicing off people’s smooth, shimmery skin. And it does, now, of course, as Harry’s eyes trace the movement of the drops down Louis’ back. But Harry’d assumed that the very same water would have washed away scents, dampening them and the experience, as it does when he swims in pools and the ocean.

This, apparently, is not how the shower works at all. Because while the water rushes down their bodies, carrying the subtle smells of their skin toward the drain, the heat and the enclosure has these same smells to rise right back up in the steam. It wraps around them in a dense cloud and Harry finds it difficult to think or breathe anything but LouisLouisLouis.

It’s like being in heat, but better. The pleasure’s there, in his and Louis’ intertwined scents, but now he he can control his limbs, push the pace or slow it down. Both the painful, empty ache of his arse and the frightening urgency, the desperation for a knot, are absent.

Louis steps back and the water rains down from the spout between them. Louis reaches through it to cup Harry’s face between his hands. He looks pained and the wet droplets running down his cheeks have the affect of tears. Harry bites his lip.

“I know we don’t usually do this.” Louis voice is rough and soft, but clear, though Harry has to strain a little to hear it over the pitter-patter of water against the bottom of the tub. When he continues, his voice is louder, edging toward a whine, “But I really want you, Harry.”

Harry nods and steps back into Louis’ space. He wants Louis, too, is the thing. He’s always wanted Louis. And if they have sex now, Harry can’t see how it would complicate things any further, not really.

They can’t bond, not without the heat, and they’re already so _intimate_ , their lives so twisted up together, that it doesn’t seem possible that anything, even sex _,_ even knotting _,_ could bring them closer.

Harry nods again. He wants this, wants Louis.

His balls feel full to bursting and his arse is beginning to ooze and Louis is here, in front of him, naked and all but begging to have him. Harry slides his arms around Louis and nods into his neck. He murmurs, “I want you, too.”

Louis breaths out sharply and Harry feels it, the press of Louis chest moving against his own. Louis’ hands cover Harry’s arse and squeeze. He slips a finger down to hover over Harry’s hole.

“Like this? Babe, can we…?”

The touch of Louis’ fingertip, finally pressing in, elicits a groan from Harry and he feels himself flush with embarrassment.

“Lou,” Harry bites out. He’s trying to nod his head _yes_ , but he’s not sure if Louis can see.

Louis’ finger stills and he leans back to look Harry in the face. He’s smiling; though the corners of his mouth are turned down, Harry can see delight written in the lines by his eyes. “Yeah?”

Harry nods again and Louis finger slides in deeper, pulling them closer together.

Into Harry’s ear, Louis murmurs, “Say it. Say you want this. Fuck, Harry, say _yes._ ”

“Yes.” It’s soft and low and mostly breath, but Louis must hear because he twists his finger to press just so. “ _Please_.”   

Louis presses in again at that spot inside Harry, the spot that sets him shivering head to toe.

“Yea-,” Harry begins to say, but then cuts off with a whine because Louis’ finger is withdrawing.

“Don’t stop.” The command is breathy and rough, desperate, though he’s meant for it to be firm. He no longer cares about roles and rules, not between him and Louis. He cares that they fuck.

“I’m not stopping,” Louis insists, lips still hot against Harry’s ear. He slips into him again, with what must be not one, not two, but _three_ fingers.

They stretch Harry’s opening and Harry winces before breathing deeply, trying to relax. He’s read about sex outside of heat; he knows that it’s not so easyor so smooth _._ Still, Harry feels fulland it’s good _._

“So tight,” Louis murmurs. “Harry, are you sure?”

He starts to remove his hand and Harry’s reaches around, fast and sure, to still his wrist. “I’m sure,” he says, his voice the loudest its been since they’d begun.

Louis’ head falls to Harry’s shoulder and Harry feels the sharp bite of his teeth. Harry’s own hands run up and down and over Louis’ back, resting finally with one on his arse and one on his cock.

Harry grips the latter firmly, tracing its shape, the angle of the shaft, the swell of the knot at its base.

Louis lets up on Harry’s skin. “Harry. You can’t- I need.”

The water’s turning cool and Harry reaches up with one hand to turn if off. He does not release Louis’ cock, but keeps it firmly in his other fist.

Louis is still, his fingers unmoving in Harry’s arse and his gaze fastened on Harry’s neck. Harry rubs their noses together, letting their breath mingle, their lips a bare inch apart.

All he can see are Louis’ eyes, heavy-lidded, when he says, “I want you to knot me.”

Louis hisses and his forehead presses forward into Harry’s. “Fuck, Harry _._ Are you sure? I don’t think you really- like, won’t that mess us up for your heat?”

His fingers are slipping out of Harry’s arse again and Harry groans and tightens his muscles around them.

“I’m sure.” His voice cracks on the second syllable turning the phrase into a whine.

Louis kisses him, hard and frenzied, fingers thrusting again, this time more deeply into Harry. His free hand is on Harry’s hip and his grip is bruising.

Harry matches Louis’ fervor, pushing his own tongue into Louis’ mouth with a grunt and tugging hard at Louis’ cock.

Louis gasps and Harry knows. It’s too much friction.

“Hey, woah” he says, reaching down for the shampoo bottle still open at their feet. The motion dislodges Louis’ fingers and they catch painfully on his opening as they slip out.

Harry hears himself whimper unhappily, and Louis lays a palm across his lower back. “Just a minute, love,” he murmurs.

Harry nods and squirts a drop of the shampoo into his palm. He watches Louis’ face as uses it slick up his dick. Louis’ mouth is open, and he lets out a series of soft, broken breaths before whispering, “You’re sure, Harry? You’re sure this is what you want?”

Harry turns to face the wall and, resting his forehead on the tiles, replies, “Yeah.”

He feels the head of Louis’ cock pressing against his opening as Louis lines himself up. Then, Louis’ lips are against Harry’s ear and he’s saying, “Fuck, babe, I’ve wanted this forever,” as he guides himself carefully inside.

Harry closes his eyes and breathes deeply, relaxing his muscles and letting his lungs expand with the heady smell of Louis’ rich, spicy scent.

It takes Harry a moment to realize that now that Louis is inside Harry up to his knot, he’s holding himself very, _very_ still. His fingers rest lightly on Harry’s hips again and his breath, more unsteady even than Harry’s own tickles Harry’s ear.

Harry takes another breath and feels his muscles flex involuntarily around Louis. Louis gasps and Harry turns his head and their lips brush in one, two, three soft kisses. When the break apart, Louis’ eyes are closed. His lashes are still wet from the shower and sticking together.

Louis says, voice lower than Harry’s ever heard it, “Harry, can I-”

He doesn’t finish the thought because Harry’s already rolling his hips, changing the angle and pressure of their joining.

“Yeah,” Louis rasps, beginning to move with him.

Their movements are slow and awkward at first. Louis feels _so_ big, and that’s good _,_ yes, but also, Harry doesn’t feel quite so elastic (or, perhaps, numb) as during his heat and the stretch burns.

But then, something must click for Louis because his hips find a steady, driving rhythm and his mouth moves to Harry’s ear, where he begins to whisper. Harry thinks it’s filth at first, Louis’ words. He thinks that Louis’ talking about sex, about the feel of Harry around him and in front of him.

And, while that’s exactlywhat he’s saying, the tone of it carries a tenderness that echoes the way he’d treated Harry during his last heat.  

Harry’s arms are beginning to tire from holding himself up. He leans forward to brace himself on an elbow instead, shaking his now free arm out before reaching down to grab his own cock.

It’s softened a bit and this surprises him because he doesn’t feelany less aroused. He begins to work himself, keeping an even pace with Louis’ rhythm.

“Yeah,” Louis’s murmuring in his ear. “Touch yourself. _Fuck_. Is that good?”

Harry whimpers and Louis slides a palm over his stomach and then down to close over Harry’s hand with his own. His grip is so firm, his fingers so strong and so sure, that Harry lets go and allows Louis to take over.

Louis seems to fully focus on Harry. His hips stop moving, though his cock is still buried deepinside Harry, and with rough strokes his fist pulls Harry closer and closer and closer until he’s splattering the tiles with his come.

He feels his arse flutter and clasp around Louis and Louis cries out too, renewing the thrusting of his hips. Louis slick hand comes up to cover Harry’s on the wall and his teeth sink into Harry’s neck.

Louis groans when he finally comes and Harry feels Louis’ pleasure spiraling inside him as though it were his own.

Louis murmurs. “Not going to knot you. Wouldn’t be good for you.” His voice is thin, wavering and Harry wants to reassure him, let him in even, though he knows Louis’ right. Knots are best for omegas during heats.

“Can you, like…” Louis’ orgasm continues to throb inside him and Louis cuts off, but Harry gets it. He reaches around behind him and wraps a hand around Louis’ knot. Louis sighs with relief at the pressure and mouths another kiss against Harry’s shoulder.

The touch of his lips stings a bit and Harry wonders how deeply he’s been bitten, whether it’ll last, whether it’ll scar.

He feels a flutter of something in the pit of his stomach at the thought and he’s not sure if it’s anxiety or anticipation.

~

They clean up quickly because the hot water’s run out. Harry’s not sure what to say, if there is anything to say.

Louis can’t seem to stop touching him. He leaves one hand on Harry’s waist as he wipes clean his thighs with the other. Then, he moves both his hands along side Harry’s own, rubbing at the crease of his arse, the soft flesh of his stomach.

Even after they’re both clean, as he reaches over to turn off the faucet, Louis keeps close to Harry, moving his face into Harry’s neck and then rubbing their cheeks together.

It’s alright because Harry feels an answering clinginess building in him the moment they separate to dry off.

Harry’s toweling off his face when Louis says, “That was good.”

Harry lowers the cloth and smiles. “Yeah.”

Louis smiles back. It’s a slow smile, gradually building till it lights up his whole face.

Harry leans forward to kiss him. When they break apart, Louis reaches up to touch Harry’s neck. Gentle as he is, the pressure on the mark still stings. “I got you good,”he says.

Harry turns so that he can see it in the mirror. His eyes widen. The skin’s been scraped raw and there’s a little bit of blood on surface.

Louis moves to stand behind him and wrap his arms around Harry’s waist. “It’s okay, Harry. It’s not a big deal. Marks aren’t, they don’t mean much. I was reading about it. Cause different people’s skin reacts differently and scars fade and stuff. Most couples get a tattoo as part of the bonding ritual.”

HarryknowsLouis’ right, but it’s still strange. He cranes his neck and touches his lips to Louis’ forehead. “Let’s go to bed.”

~

When Harry wakes the next morning, his legs are tangled with Louis’ and Louis’ cock rests, half-hard against his hip. Louis’ asleep yet, drooling onto Harry’s shoulder.

Harry lays still for a moment, enjoying the smell of Louis on the sheets and taking in the satisfied ache of his body, spent from yesterday’s anxiety and running and _sex._

_Sex._

It was good _,_ he decides, and he’s glad they had it. Even if he’s a bit nervous about their, like, attachment _._

He frees himself from Louis, trying to keep his movements small and still so as not to disturb him. Harry’s due in the studio to work with Zayn and their vocal coach probably very soon, but Louis has the morning off.

In the doorway, Harry turns around again to look at Louis. The light streaming in from the window settles around Louis’ naked torso like a soft glowing halo, but the effect is ruined because he’s snoring lightly and his mouth is open wide a little, the corner glistening with a dibble of spit. He looks ridiculous, actually, and Harry kind of wants to take a picture and text it to Zayn so they can laugh about it together.

No, Harry thinks, chuckling to himself, they’re in the clear. He’s definitely not _bondmate_ -levelattached. Relief buzzes through him and he floats the rest of his morning routine, enjoying the residual pleasure of having been well-fucked.

But when he shows up at the studio, the first thing Zayn says is, “Is that a mark? Like, a mark _mark_? Are you and Louis…?”

Harry’s hand reaches up to touch the scab that’s formed on his neck overnight. It’s sore, echoing the throb inside Harry’s bum.

“No,” Harry says, slowly. “We just… It’s not important. Everything’s cool.”

Zayn’s eyebrows drift up and up and up, but he bites his lip, shakes his head and keeps quiet.

Later, as he tries unsuccessfully to match Zayn’s pitch on a particularly high note, Harry realizes that something smells off _._ Their scents are different, wrong, and a flutter in the pit of his stomach warns that whatever’s amiss might be affecting the music.

Harry feels a wave of heady panic when their vocal coach stops them only a moment later, frowning and shaking her head.

“Harry,” she says. “What happened just now? You went flat all of a sudden.”

Zayn looks down and fiddles with his belt. He’s almost never called out during their vocal rehearsals and hearing the other boys berated unsettles him enough that his discomfort always rattles through Harry, as well. Except that right now Harry can see it in the set of his shoulders, but he can’t actually feelit.

Harry fights the urge to reach out and rub Zayn’s neck, even though he’s the one who’d made the mistake.

Which, actually, that urge reassures him a bit. Things probably aren’t _too_ off between them.  

“Harry,” their coach prompts, again. “You alright, dear? Is it, like, that time of the month?”

Zayn winces, and so does Harry.

The entirety of their team’s been alerted to Harry’s status and it’s suddenly like everyone’s on guard around him, especiallythe betas. Harry doesn’t get it, like, they can’t evensmell him- why the fuck do they care?

“No,” Harry assures her. “I just, I think there’s something weird with Zayn and my scents or, like,... yeah....” He trails off. He’s not actuallysure what’s wrong.

Their coach looks at Zayn. “Is that right?” she asks.

Zayn shrugs and doesn’t look at her.

Irritation rises in Harry and he says, “Yeah, I can feel it.”

Their coach frowns at him. “I asked Zayn,” she says, adjusting her glasses and returning her gaze to the music in front of her. “He doesn’t seem to think so.”

Harry’s skin itches he’s so angry, all of a sudden. He’s got this overwhelming urge to knock over her music stand or maybe dump his water bottle over her perfectly styled hair. _He_ thinks something’s off, that should be enough. Zayn shouldn’t have to validatehis assessment.

Zayn reaches out to touch Harry’s shoulder. “Hey,” he says. “Actually, Harry might be right. Could we, like, have a minute?”

The woman folds her arms across her chest. “By all means.”

Harry looks from Zayn to her and then back again.

Zayn sighs. “We’re just gonna talk out in the hallway.”

“Fine,” their coach tells him, as he pulls Harry by the elbow out of the room.

“What the fuck, babe?” Zayn asks as soon as they’re out of the room. “I thought you said everything was cool.”

Harry leans back against the wall. “Everything _is_ cool between Louis and I. It’s you and I that’ve messed things up.”

Zayn tilts his head to the side and blows out a breath. “I don’t think so, mate. You’re obviously getting closer to him and so of course things will be a little different between us. It’s natural, not a big deal. _Chill_.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair and tries not to sound petulant when he replies, “I think it’s a big deal.”

Zayn shakes his head and bites his lip. Harry feels Zayn’s irritation and, as much as he hatesthe burn of it, he’s glad it’s reached him. Finally, Zayn says, “I don’t think this is about us. I think it’s about Louis. After, like, whatever happened.”

“Nothing happened with Louis.” Harry looks down at his hands. “Everything is exactly the same.”

“You’ve got a _mark_.” Zayn steps closer to him and he catches a particularly strong whiff of Zayn’s scent. Harry realizes that it’s the first full-on smell of it he’s had all day. Meeting Harry’s eyes, Zayn takes another step closer.

Being in Zayn’s space is nice, comfortable, and Harry feels himself relax.

“Better?” Zayn asks.

Harry nods and then reaches out to pull Zayn into a hug. Zayn melts into Harry’s embrace and Harry can feel the heat of his happiness, smell the sweetness of his smile. He tightens his hold and Zayn laughs.

“You’re okay,” Zayn reassures him. “We’ll all be okay.”

Harry takes a deep breath and Zayn follows suit. Letting it out he says, “But you do smell like you slept in a puddle of Louis’ come.”

That startles a laugh out of Harry. “Gross,” he says, but he’s more delighted than grossed out and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t hide it well.

As he releases Harry, Zayn says, “You didn’t did you? Or at least you showered afterward?”  

Harry feels himself flush and he opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. He’s thinking about the shower.

“Hey!” Liam appears at the end of the hallway and Harry remembers that his appointment with the vocal coach is right after theirs.

“Hi, Liam,” Harry calls out, looking away from Zayn’s steady gaze to greet Liam with an only somewhat forced smile.

When he reaches them, Liam frowns and says, “Is something wrong? Why are you guys out in the hall?” Then his eyes widen and he adds, “Are you having _another_ heat?”

Harry makes a face. Obviously, he’s not. Or, he thinkshe’s not; Liam should be able to tell.

Liam’s frown deepens. “What?”

Zayn sighs. “If you’re feeling better, Harry, let’s finish up.”

~

Louis is still in bed when Harry gets home. His computer rests on his lap and several bowls of cereal sit mostly empty on the bedside table. He smiles at Harry when he walks into the room.

“Hey,” Harry says. He fights the urge to tackle Louis and cover him with kisses. He thinks if he climbs into bed, neither of them will be making it out any time soon. Harry’s full of energy; he wants to make an elaborate lunch, maybe go to the shops.

Louis presses a couple of buttons and then closes his computer. He stares at Harry. “Well.”

There’s an unusual tension in the air. Louis does not ask Harry about his day and he does not start in with a story about his own. Harry’s not sure what to say or do without Louis taking the lead.

Unbidden, the thought arises that _maybe Zayn was right, maybe something has changed between them._

Harry tries to think what he would have said or done beforelast night. Maybe he would have crawled in beside Louis, tried to tickle him into getting out of bed and keeping him company. Maybe he would have simply said ‘hello’ and let him be. He’s not sure. He chews his lip.

Louis sighs, leans over, and sets his computer on the floor. He pats the bed beside him. “How was the lesson?”

Cautiously, Harry sits. Louis’ hair is mussed and he’s not wearing a shirt and he smells faintly of arousal. It’s all a little much.

“It was alright…” Harry begins, but then he stops because Louis is openly sniffing him and frowning. It’s weird and also very rude. “What are you doing?”

“You smell like Zayn.” Louis moves back from him. His brows are raised high enough to brush his fringe.

“How might that have happened?” Harry asks dryly, running a hand through his hair and keeping hold of Louis’ gaze. “I can’t imagine.”

Louis pouts. “Like, _a lot_ like Zayn.”

Harry shifts uncomfortably. “He said I smell _a lot_ like you.”

“When was he smelling you?” Louis shakes his head. “Never mind. That’s a stupid question. You guys were rehearsing together.”

Harry nods, glad that Louis’ said it and not him.  He also thinks it’s fair to add, “I didn’t really like it when you smelled like that other omega either.”

Louis frowns again. “That’s stupid. I wasn’t even- I don’t even like her.”

Harry pokes Louis in the thigh through the blankets. “Well, I don’t like Zayn.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t lie,” Louis spits back.

“I don’t. Not like I like you,” Harry insists, digging his finger deeper and deeper into Louis’ muscle.

Louis places a hand over Harry’s to still him. He keeps his gaze on their intertwining fingers when he says, “Really?”

Harry laughs and nods. “Really.”

Louis begins to smile, but he continues to keep his eyes down. “ _Really_ , really _?_ ”

Very slowly, Harry replies, “Yes, obviously.” Harry lives with Louis. Harry’s let Louis help him through a heat _._ He’s not sure how Louis could misread it. He clearly trusts him in a completely different way than he does the boys.

“You’re different, special,” Harry tells him. “Better.”

Louis still hasn’t looked up. He picks at an invisible speck of lint on the blanket. “Maybe, like, while I’m helping you, we could agree not to see anyone else.”

“Believe me, Louis,” Harry says. “I am notgoing to let any other alpha touch me.”

Finally, Louis relaxes and meets his gaze. “Good.”

He looks happier than Harry feels and Harry has to turn away to ask. “What about, like, Eleanor?”

Louis laughs. “That’s different. It’s so that fans don’t get the wrong idea, you know?”

Harry scoots away from him. “Right. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking _your_ arsehole gets wet.”   

Louis makes a face like Harry’s just said something terribly unfair. “You _know_ that’s not what it’s about, Haz. It’s just,  well, people treat you differently when they think you’re an omega. I’ve started to notice it from some of the fans and journos. Even the nice ones- the ones who think they’re in on a marvelous secret- they act like I’m fragile and stupid, you know?”

Harry rolls his eyes. He’s beginning to feel really, really upset. He feels tears building and he’s not sure whether he’s mad or hurt or what. He’s proud of how softly and smoothly, he replies, “I know.”

“No, you don’t,” Louis bites back. His eyes have narrowed. He’s getting mad, too. “You play a good alpha, so nobody thinks that way about you _._ ”

“You do!” The words come out faster and louder than Harry intends them. “ _You_ think that way about me.”

Louis freezes and his eyes grow huge. “I don’t-” he begins and then stops. “I don’t think about you that way. You’re not, like, an omegato me. You’re Harry. I think of you as _Harry_.”

Harry meets his eyes. This isn’t true. Louis _does_ treat him differently; everyone who knows he’s an omega does. But Louis looks very contrite, pained at the very idea that he might have hurt Harry.

He leans forward to kiss Harry. It’s a soft kiss, an apology perhaps. Pulling back, Louis murmurs, “You’re just Harry.”

Harry closes the space between their lips in another kiss. The intensity increases quickly, Louis’ hands coming around to rest on Harry’s back. Then, with a rough tug,  Louis pulls Harry forward until he’s lying awkwardly atop him.

After a moment, Harry lifts his head and looks down into Louis’ eyes. One of Harry’s curls falls down to brush Louis’ temple and Louis bats at it with a little frown.

“I’ve really never meant to treat you badly,” he says, voice tinged with worry. He’s really upset at the thought. Harry can feel his fear and regret wrapping round them both like a rope.

Any fight Harry might have had left in him, any intention of pushing the topic, disappears. In _this_ moment, Louis cares for Harry. That’s all that matters.

One of Louis’ hands snakes up to press against the back of Harry’s head and bring him in for yet another kiss. Louis’ lips move desperately against Harry’s and his grip on Harry’s shoulder is bruisingly tight.

Harry breaks the kiss and buries his face in Louis neck, breathing him in. The scent of him is steadying, as always, and Harry wants another shower of it.

Louis takes an echoing breath, which he follows with a dissatisfied whimper. He scoots down to press his own nose tight against Harry’s own pulse point. “You smell like home,” Louis whispers.

Is stupid and romantic and it tickles a smile out of Harry.

Louis sniffs again. “But also still like Zayn.”

Harry stiffens. He’s not interested in another round of argument, but he isn’t about to feel bad for spending time with one of his other bandmates. However, instead of pressing the issue aloud, Louis opens his mouth against Harry’s neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

Harry hears himself groan. Despite little tugs of lingering frustration, he’s been half-hard since Louis pulled him down. The smell of Louis around him and the memory of last night overwhelm him and he pushes himself tighter to Louis’ body, grinding his hips so that Louis will feel his arousal.

Louis whines, and then says, “Fuck, Harry. Been thinking about you all day. About how tight you felt and how wet you got for me.”

Harry nods against the top of Louis’ head. _God_ , just yesterday he’d been unsure why some omegas wanted sex outside of heat at all and now here  he is, ready to beg for it.

“I want you to smell like me,” Louis continues. He’s on a roll, talking, Harry realizes. He wonders if Louis even knows what he’s saying or if the words are tumbling out of him, raw and unprocessed. “I want you to smell like _us_.”

Harry wants that, too. He reaches a hand down between their bodies aching to experience the weight and fullness of Louis against his palm. Louis’ still talking when Harry touches him and his voice catches, but he doesn’t even pause; Harry’s stopped trying to make sense of his words and instead lets them wrap round him, a ribbon of Louis’ desire pulling them tighter and tighter to one another.

Harry’s own breath catches when he feels the knot begin to fill at the base Louis’ cock. When he lets his hand slide down to cover it Louis bites down again on Harry’s neck in the exact same spot he had the night before and the sting of it is so acute that Harry’s eyes water.  

Harry’s hand loosens on Louis’ cock, sliding off to rest on his inner thigh. Louis lets up on Harry’s neck and rolls them over onto their sides, angling his body over Harry. Their eyes meet for a moment and then Louis leans down and kisses him.

Louis hand brushes over Harry’s as he wraps it around both their cocks. The hot friction sizzles through Harry and his hands scramble in the sheets.

He closes his eyes. Louis seems to know exactly how much pressure to use and exactly how fast to go. Harry wonders if it’s because of this connection that’s been building between them, if somehow Louis can read exactly what Harry needs in the energy that dances around him.

Louis’ mouth presses again to the mark he’s made on Harry’s neck and Harry finds himself tensing up, anticipating the pain of another bite. But Louis’ teeth never come. Instead, he presses a series of tender kisses to the skin around the swollen spot.

Harry finds himself relaxing into the sensation, letting Louis lead him forward, lips on his neck and hand tight on his cock, pulling him up and up and up and _over._

Harry’s hands fall open on the sheets as he comes, whining against Louis’ forehead. Louis’ cock twitches against Harry’s own and Harry knows he’s close, too.

“Can I- _Fuck_. You’re not prepped,” Louis moans, tone plaintive.

Harry’s arse feels loose enough, wet and eager for Louis’ dick, but, boneless from coming, he can’t find the words to say so.

Louis’ hand slides between Harry’s thighs which are wet with sweat and the lubrication that’s leaked out from his arse. Louis pulls his cock through them and hitches it up close to Harry’s body so that the tip is pressing against his hole and the knot against the back of his achingly sensitive sack.

Louis thrusts and Harry tightens his thighs, hissing out at the pressure it puts on his now over sensitive cock and balls. He’s glad when Louis comes quickly.

He runs his fingers through Louis’ hair, caressing him through his orgasm.

They lay together panting for several long minutes, Harry watching Louis come slowly down, eyes closed, lips parted, face flushed.

Louis smiles when he finally opens his eyes. He opens his mouth as though he means to speak, but then closes it again.

Harry says, “You’re incredible.” His voice is raspy, as though he hasn’t spoken in hours.

Louis’ face shutters and he shakes his head. “I’m not. I’d make a terrible alpha.”

Harry brushes a sweaty lock of hair off of Louis’ forehead and kisses the little line between his brows. “Whichever omega you end up bonding with will be incredibly lucky.”

Harry’s chest clenches up as he says it. A not so small part of him longs to be Louis’ eventual, undeniably fortunate mate.

“You think?” Louis holds Harry’s gaze firmly, but his voice is quiet.

Harry nods, breaking eye contact and burying his face in Louis’ neck.  

~

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> say hello on [tumblr](http://juliusschmidt.tumblr.com)


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